


Ad Infinitum

by LittleTooStranger



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint's almost-mental issues, Coulson Lives, Established Relationship, M/M, Wedding Rings, proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTooStranger/pseuds/LittleTooStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton likes constants. Likes the one two fire motion of an arrow released, the tension of the bow as he makes a critical shot. Constants, he always knows where they stand. He doesn’t always know where his team stands.</p>
<p>Coulson, though, Coulson is always his constant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ad Infinitum

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened at 2 am in the morning. 
> 
> All mistakes are /sadly/ my own, so if you see one, please let me know.

Clint Barton likes constants. Likes the one two fire motion of an arrow released, the tension of the bow as he makes a critical shot. Constants, he always knows where they stand. He doesn’t always know where his team stands.

Natasha is Natasha, ever changing and adapting, never staying the same for a goddamn moment. Natasha is the tide.

Steve doesn’t know where he stands with the new world, tries to eke out an existents wherever he can, adapting too much for Clint to get a handle on. Steve is like the circus.

Tony is volatile and dangerous and brash and harsh; never sitting still, always trying to upgrade and improve and exceed. Tony is a chemical reaction.

Bruce is nervous and flighty and scared of himself, unsure of the terms of his own body, let alone the world around him. Bruce is a door-mouse.

Thor is unstable, never there except when he is, too loud and too harsh and hiding a weakness. Thor is an alien, an unknown quantity.

Clint tries not to let it get to him, tries to keep his game face on because there is no going back to the safety of SHIELD, where at least he knew his place. Not after New York. But sometimes, when it all gets too much and there is clutter in his head – trajectory and wind resistance, scenarios and unsolvable equations spinning in his head - he crawls through the air ducts to find some quiet, and always ends up with Coulson’s bland, detached voice telling him to get out and down to the range.

Sometimes, Clint thinks that the only constant in his crazy world is Coulson. Coulson gets it.

This is why at 2 am in the morning, when Clint is firing arrow after arrow in Stark’s custom range, he is not at all surprised when Coulson turns up, sits down and continues his paperwork. They should both be in bed, but know better than to disturb the other in times like these; he’s happy Coulson can do this with him.

He gets used to the snap-reach-pull-release motions of his bow echoed by the one-two tap of Coulson’s pen as it summarises and details, fills in post-op reports, and let’s it clear his head, push away the half finished equations, points of interest the he notes down for no reason, people’s behaviour; lets it wash over him until his muscles ache with the pull of over-use.

“Sir,” its tired and open, and Clint’s glad that he trusts Coulson this much.

“Barton,” Coulson replies, and down goes the pen, paperwork filed away for another time, as Agent Coulson falls away and Phil comes out, a tired, lazy smile spreading over his face. Clint can feel the tension ebb out of his shoulders, Phil’s Phil-ness relaxing him, and he returns the smile, easy and quick and all for the man in front of him.

“Bed?” Phil asks, and that’s all, the silent words _your okay, Clint_ , and, _it’s fine,_ not going unnoticed.

“Yeah,” the archer replies, giving in and brushing his knuckles against Phil’s, _I’m fine,_ and, _thank you,_ hidden in the movement.

This is all he needs, his constant, he thinks, as they fall into bed, Phil tucked up tightly behind Clint, pulling him to his chest, nose buried in the short hair behind Clint’s left ear. He would take on the world, with all its variables and uncertainties, for this.

+++

Clint wants to marry Phil, and its something that he has known for a while, since he figured out that Phil’s going to stay for good, since the Stark incident, when Phil left with a “Stay safe, I’ll be back soon, I promise”. There has just never been the right time.

There was the Hulk thing, and then Stark with his impossibilities, then motherfucking Thor with his crazy-ass brother, then Captain America, when Clint thought he might lose Phil to a 70 year old dead man, and then Thor’s bat-shit-insane brother _again,_ complete with Clint getting MindFucked, and Phil’s sorta-but-not-really death.

Life of an assassin-come-superhero wasn’t really working all that well for Clint on the whole romance thing.

So he figures that while things are quiet, no raging bloodthirsty kraken trying to destroy humanity, he should pop the question now.

He’s got the ring, booked dinner (thanks Stark, I’ll be sure to let you know I have your card sometime), and is generally feeling pretty good, bar the persuading of the team.

He’s cautiously optimistic about how that conversation will go down.

“I thought there was a cellist?” is the first thing out of Stark’s mouth, which earns him a slap to the head from Nat, bless her.

“Take your time Stark, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” and that earns her a confused glare, and a small chuckle from Bruce.

Steve is obviously thrilled, bless his patriotic heart, if slightly lost, and Clint has to remind himself that the guy has probably never heard of same-sex marriage before.

“Thor is going to love this,” Stark begins, “Mom and Dad are getting – wait, cellist, bow – Agent you sneaky little bastard.”

Clint’s not even going to think about who’s Mom.

None-the-less, he manages to get them agreeing to field SHIELD, and for the most part the hardest part of his day becomes which tie should he wear with the monkey suit (again, bought with Stark’s money).

By the time 6 pm rolls around, Clint is practically itching to shoot something, yes-no answers, possibilities and situations distracting him. His fingers twitch and he feels flighty, nerves and excitement and self-depreciation making him jumpy and agitated.

“Calm down Clint, Jesus you are worse than Banner tonight.”

“Fuck off Stark,” and he’s not even going to try and hide is frustration at the man, not tonight of all nights.

 Stark was opening his mouth to say something that Clint really didn’t want to hear, probably something about irritability and ‘there’s no need to be like that’, like this wasn’t the most important night of Clint’s life, and Clint was turning away, ready to call the whole thing off, because if Stark didn’t shut up soon, he was going to give a new scar to one of them, he just wasn’t sure which yet.

”Tony, I will tase you. Back off,” then Phil was there, like a balm, like always, and Clint thinks, _yeah, this is what I want,_ because Phil gets it, gets that Clint isn’t always the most patient, and usually can’t deal with ordinary situations all that well.  

Tony grumbles a bit about favouritism, and damn, Clint’s glad the Phil is fond of those suits, because he will always get turned on by Phil, looking at him like that in an Armani.

“Clint, we good?” and Clint can’t help it if his eyes flick to Phil’s lips for a second.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Clint's obsession with constants and variables loosely based on my own obsession with quantifying things around me.   
> Jesus this has been killing me, Brain-fic germinating in my head for weeks.   
> Chapter 2 is done, just editing now, and I've got the banner done as well (holy balls this headcanon is going to kill me).
> 
> None-the-less, hope you enjoy this, I'm awfully proud of it.


End file.
